


UNSPOKEN

by thoughtsdemise



Series: Adventure Day [5]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: A Bit Of Jealousy, Slight Medical Kink, Slight Misunderstanding, for a third time, lewd flirting, medical procedure on robotic genitals, nsfw jokes, putting certain objects where they don’t belong
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-07
Updated: 2017-07-07
Packaged: 2018-11-28 21:20:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11426400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thoughtsdemise/pseuds/thoughtsdemise
Summary: Rodimus has a personal injury.  Ratchet fixes it.  Drift just might be taking things the wrong way.





	UNSPOKEN

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rotorhead](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rotorhead/gifts).



Rodimus grunts on the medical berth, his thighs trembling with strain.  He looks over the expanse of his body at the red helm lowered between his thighs.  Moisture gathers on his lips and his glossa swipes through it.  He digs his digits into the sides of the berth and lets his helm fall back to the pillow.  He shudders and tries not to shift as he feels the wall of his port being stretched with the speculum.  He gasps and chuckles at the sharp cold of lubricant being added before several digits are inserted to press against the mesh on sides of his valve.  At this point Rodimus can no longer stop himself.

“Primus, Ratch, think you can go any deeper?”  He smiles at the ceiling not daring to look down because he knows the look he’ll find.  “Could have at least bought me drinks at  _ Visages _ or  _ Swerve’s _ first,” he quips with a salacious grin.  He does look down then, and yup, Ratchet is giving him a deadpan look.  The probing digits have stopped as blue optics narrow at Rodimus.

Rodimus clears his vents as a flash of heat runs through his systems when Ratchet cracks a small grin at the lewd suggestion.

“So you want me to let your port’s mesh remained bruised while we go for a drink?”  Ratchet’s smile turns almost sickly sweet.  “I suppose I could find time for that in my schedule, if you could let me know in advance you were going to what it now:  ‘trip and fall onto the post of your berth’?”  Ratchet reaches next to him and pulls up a tube of specialized nanites to show Rodimus.  “What does this make now?  Three times you’ve had a particular ‘accident’ where an object has ‘surprisingly’ ended up in your port?”

Rosimus presses his back to the berth.  He remains silent, thinking it best not to mention the other two times Ratchet hadn’t been around to take care of.  He felt bad for Firstaide having to deal with the blaster incident twice.  And in his own defense, he thinks that first time had been a real accident.  How was he to know nail that mech in a training room against the weapons wrack would be such a bad idea.

“Aah!”  Rodimus nearly climbs off the berth a moment later when a searing heat tingles in his port.  Only Ratchet’s firm hand on his abdomen had kept him on it.  “What the frag, Ratchet?”  His vents heave from the sudden shock.

Ratchet has turned to the side to organize the medical equipment.

“Warn a mech next time,” Rodimus grinds out before Ratchet can reply.

Ratchet side-eyes Rodimus before turning to face him.  A hand landing on Rodimus’ knee to steady him.  “I did.  Your processor must have been elsewhere.”  Ratchet leans forward and stare intently at his captain.  He closes the speculum and withdraws it carefully so as not to scrape any of the working nanites off.  His lip quirks in a smile as he watches Rodimus eyeing him intently.  “Just where was your processor at right now?”  Ratchet chuckles when Rodimus tries and fails to take on an air of dignity.

He pats Rodimus’ knee before turning away and gathering up the used medical instruments and supplies.  “I want you staying right there,” he barks as he notices Rodimus start to slide up.  “The nanites have to set for the next hour.”

Rodimus twitches but slides his port cover closed.  “Hmm, Ratch.  An hour seems like too long of a time for an older model like you.”  He watches red-white armor draw closer to a sturdy frame then fluff out.

“Careful, boy.”  Ratchet places the tray next to the sink.  “Your mouth is running before your processor, and I might just ask Brainstorm to stop by to run a diagnostic on you.”  Ratchet gives Rodimus a sharp smile when he sees the other flinch.  “And last I checked the message system, Magnus was having a bit of a snit that Drift was coming onto the bridge almost too tired for his shifts.”

Ratchet turns to the sink and begins the process of cleaning the equipment.  He hears Rodimus sputter a bit.  “Young mechs,’ Ratchet rolls his optics.

“Yeah well,” Rodimus clears his vents.  “Medics are made for stamina aren’t they?”

“And speedsters tend to be a one and done go,” Ratchet throws back over his shoulder.

Rodimus chuckles.  “Haha.  Yeah.”  Orange digits scratch at the back of an orange helm.  “But it depends on the track we’re given I think.  If there’s enough spaces to explore,” Rodimus lifts an optical ridge and shifts his hips in a lewd gesture.

Ratchet turns about the catch the swifting hips, a teasing but not inviting gesture on Rodimus’ part.  He folds his arms across his chest and regards the young captain with a cool look.  He snorts.  “I do suppose speeder engines have a nice vibration when stroked right.”

Rodimus shifts to sit higher but still leans back far enough.  He winks.  “Hard enough to shake a few berths,” he brags.

Ratchet is just about to snort a laugh when a burst of angered static draws both of their optics to the door and a very stiff looking Drift.  A warm smile of welcome blooms on Ratchet’s face a ew moments later when he steps forward.  Drift is quick to answer this unspoken invitation to join the medic.  He slips an arm around Ratchet’s waist and snuggles in close.

“Sorry, Drift,” Ratchet returns the impromptu hug.  “Had an unexpected medical procedure to take care of.  I’m not too late for our dinner plans am I?”

Drift glances at Rodimus too quickly for Ratchet to notice before turning his frame and Ratchet so Rodimus is at his back, an old Decepticon insult for a potential rival.  He gives Ratchet a quick kiss.  “Not at all, beloved.  Rodders is usually causing trouble, especially when he lets his cord do his thinking for him.”  At this Drift down turn to half face a very still Rodimus.  He lifts the corner for his mouth into a smile to show his sharp denta while drawing Ratchet closer to himself.

“What?”  Drift turns his gaze back to Ratchet when he feels a sharp wrap on the back of his helm.  He gives Ratchet a sheepish look when he feels the full weight of that Ratchet stare.

“Rodimus, go to your quarters.  And no more sticking foreign objects that weren’t designed for your port up there please.”

Ratchet wraps and arm about Drift and fingers his waist as Rodimus beats a hasty retreat from the thick atmosphere.

Ratchet gives rift a searing kiss before saying, “I’m flattered, but you don’t need to case my patients away.”

Drift pouts.  Their relationship was still rather new so they both had a few rough spots to work out.  Drift eyes the outer medbay before tugging Ratchet out of the private examination room.  Ratchet only shook his head and led the warming speeder to his office instead.  A little desk romp should be good for the both of them right now then dinner.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Oilwrench prompt - Ratchet has to repair a personal area on Rodimus. Rodimus keeps cracking not so safe for work jokes about Ratchet being up in his business. Drift walks in after the appointment and takes their banter as flirting and is not happy his best friend is making moves on his mech.


End file.
